Brandon Inge Hits the Town With the Toledo Boys

(Outside a bar in Toledo, Ohio.)
BRANDON INGE: (talking into cell phone) I keep telling you, Shani, it’s all going to be fine. As soon as I figure out this gosh-darn hitch in my swing, I’ll be back up in Detroit with you and the kids in a jiffy. No, honey, I’m not depressed. In fact, I’m joining some of the fellas from the Hens for a drink tonight. No, honey, Miguel's not with us. They invited me out to catch up on old times since we’re all buds from being on the Tigers. No honey, I won’t drink too much. Uh huh, love you, too. Kiss the kids for me! Bye-bye. Heh, she’s such a peach. I hope everyone’s here already…they said they’d meet me out here but I don’t see anyone…

SQUEAKY VOICE: Brandon, down here.

INGE: Oh, hey, buddy! Didn’t see you down there.
WILL RHYMES: It happens. Good to see you, man. The boys are inside. Let’s head in and get ourselves a drink and celebrate putting the band back together!

/bar door flies open

FU-TE NI: Herrrrro, Blandon! Werrcum to Torredo, my fliend! Torredo is gleat shitty. Many kalaoke balls in this shitty. I rove kalaoke! I just put in song lequests now! Want sing with Ni? We can do “Summer Roving” from "Glease"!

INGE: Haha…no thanks, buddy. Great to see you. Where we sitting?

NI: Ovel by poor tabre. Crete want to pray you foll blagging lights at birrialds! We miss you, Blandon!

/puts up hand for high five

INGE: Missed you too, Fu.

/swings for high five

/misses by three feet

/makes sad face and sulks over to pool table
CLETE THOMAS: Aye, Brando. Wut yew doin’ in a shithole like Toledo, man? Ain’t yew loaded?

/spits dip on floor

INGE: It’s not about that, Clete. It’s about proving that I can still do this. It’s about proving Dave and Jim wrong. It’s about making my fans happy. I am a Detroit Tiger and that’s all I ever wanted to be, you know?

THOMAS: Well, yew a Mud Hen now, peckerhead.

/adjusts oversized Jim Beam belt buckle

RHYMES: Cool it, guys. We’re here to have fun. Where’d Ni go?

THOMAS: Look up on dat dere stage, Tiny. ‘Ol Mr. Miyagi’s cuttin’ himself a rug.

/on stage

NI: Take Ni, ta-ta-take Ni. Want be victim, leady fol abduction. You an arien! You touch so follen. It’s supelnatular! Extlatellestlial!

INGE: Oh my, that’s terrible. Someone should go get him before this ends up on that internets thing.

THOMAS: Yup. Boy ain’t right. Could at least sing some Toby Keith, ya know?

/scratches crotch, smells hand

INGE: So, are we the only players here? Thought more guys would have shown.

RHYMES: Well, Timo couldn’t make it. He’s busy begging his agent about getting back into the Mexican League where he might get noticed. Villareal won’t leave his hotel room because some blogger girl is stalking him or something. He says “hi”, though. Not sure about Wilk and the other guys. But “The Balla” should be here, though.

INGE: Who in heckfire is “The Balla”?

/bar door flies open
CASPER WELLS: Yo, yo, yo, bitches! Upstate Balla in the muthafuckin’ hizz-ouse! Ribbed fo YO pleasure, ladies! Where my dawgs at? ‘Sup, Willy? ‘Sup, Hillbilly? ‘Sup, B? How my boy doin’?

INGE: Casper…you feeling all right?

WELLS: Caspah? CASPAH? You trippin’, son. Caspah my SLAVE NAME. That what them muthafuckin’ honky bitches up NORTH callin’ the BALLA! You call me Upstate Balla in T-Town, B! You feel me?

INGE: I guess so. Things are quite different here, I take it.

WELLS: Sheeeeet, son. We own ‘dis town, son. The bitches here be ALL OVAH Da Balla! They be STARVED ‘fo the Balla’s cock, son. And Da Balla don’t stop ballin’ ‘til the honey comin’ out dat ass, yo, you feel me? Bully dat! Now where my ninja boy at?

THOMAS: Where yew think, dipshit?

/on stage

NI: I got feering…WOOO HOOO! That tonight gon be good night. Tonight gon be good, good night. Tonight the night! Ret’s rive it up! I got money! Ret’s spend it up…

WELLS: Now dat be funny shit, yo. ‘Ol Jackie Chan be TRIPPIN’, yo!

THOMAS: Brando, you gon play or wut? I racked that shit, grab a stick and break, dammit.

/picks wax out of ear, wipes it on wall

INGE: Sure, Clete. Sorry, my mind’s just going nuts right now. I’m warning you, I’m pretty good at pool, buddy!

/goes to break…misses cue ball three times

INGE: Oh, fudge.
WAITRESS: Can I get you guys something to drink? Also, I’m sorry, but your son can’t be in here.

RHYMES: Hey! I’m almost thirty! I’d like a Kahlua and cream, please. With a big twisty straw!

THOMAS: Busch Light, honey.

INGE: Appletini, please. Fu! You want a drink?

NI: (from stage) Mirrel Rite!

WELLS: I want a piece ‘o’ dat ass, baby. You know you want some of Tha Balla. The Balla fill that ass up wit' his meat ‘til it be a sloppy joe, you know what I’m sayin’?

/gets slapped in face

WELLS: Damn, girl! Hennessey, yo. I was just playin’. Bitches be trippin’ in this joint. Ain’t worth the roofies in my pocket, yo. Hey, B! Toss me that rag! Bitch’s hand be wet, playa.

INGE: Sure.

/tosses rag three feet over Casper’s head

INGE: Oops. Look, fellas. I appreciate you all taking me out to cheer me up. It means a lot. It’s good to know that when I’m at my lowest, I’ve got some great chums like you all to bring my spirits up. It’s great to see you all and I hope we can all…

WELLS: Sheeit…we just here ‘fo the drinks, son. You payin’, fool.

INGE: I am?

THOMAS: If yew want our company, yew will.

/adjusts Wrangler jeans

RHYMES: Sorry, Brandon. You’re not in Detroit anymore. Welcome to the hell of being back in the minors.

INGE: This may have been a big, big mistake.

/looks toward stage

NI: I catch glenade fol you. Thlow hand on brade fol you. Jump flont of tlain fol you! Know Ni do anything fol you…

THOMAS: Aye, Brando…speakin' of big mistakes, that thar girl’s checkin’ yew out...
THOMAS:  Some shit don't ever change, huh?  Haha...

INGE: Sigh…I'm calling my agent in the morning...